


You'll See, One Day

by thatjohnlock



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Kidlock, M/M, Teenlock, adultlock lol...just saying, mentions of blood (from injuries and or crime scenes)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 23:35:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2600507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatjohnlock/pseuds/thatjohnlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock moves in next door, John quickly learns that Sherlock isn't like other children. As they grow up together, it only becomes more obvious. </p><p>It also becomes obvious that they're going to be inseparable...for a very long time. </p><p>When John starts to believe their lives are going in different directions, Sherlock makes it his goal to prove to John that they belong right here, side by side. Always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Window

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone!
> 
> I've written so much Johnlock and I'm going to begin posting it. I'm so excited to start sharing my fics for this fandom. This one starts off as a kidfic and then moves into a teenfic, and then as they're adults. 
> 
> It's super cheesy and cliche, but...ya know. It's cute and stuff, so I don't mind.
> 
> Please excuse any typos! I'm a terrible editor. 
> 
> Thanks for reading :)  
> -TJL

John watched as the moving truck pulled into the driveway of the house next door. He watched from his bedroom window. The family was a couple, most likely the parents of the two little boys running around in the grass. The older boy was chasing the younger, the younger was whining for the older to leave him alone. John chuckled as he watched this. 

Mrs. Hudson looked over the boy’s shoulder to see what he was giggling at. John jumped when he felt her move behind him, he hadn’t know that she’d come in the room.

“What are you looking at, Johnny?” She asks, peering out the window as well. “Ah, the Holmes family has finally moved in.”

“Holmes?” John repeats, pushing himself up higher on his small eight year old feet, as if it’d give him a better view.

“Yes,” Mrs. Hudson nods and pets the boy’s hair. “Why don’t you go say hello?”

“No...I don’t think that’d be a good idea.” John shakes his head. 

“Why not?”

“I’m not good at making friends.” John admits shyly. “They wouldn’t like me.”

“Nonsense, you’re a sweet boy.”

“But, I-”

“Bring them some of my biscuits and you can’t go wrong.”

“Um...alright. I’ll try.”

“That’s my boy.” 

~*~

With a covered plate of biscuits, John hesitantly makes his way to the other house. The family has already gone inside, but the front door is why open because they’ve not finished bringing in all of the furniture from the truck. John reaches up to ring the doorbell. Before he’s gotten the chance to ring it, he hears the sound of rubber stretching and he sees someone standing in front of him through his peripheral vision. 

When John turns to face the person completely, he gasped. There is a slingshot being aimed right at his face, with a small rock inside. No doubt it’d hurt if the wielder shot him with it. John’s eyes slowly meet the stranger’s. 

It’s the younger of the two boys that John saw running around earlier. 

“Um...p-please don’t shoot me.” John stammered. 

“Intruder.” The boy replies, narrowing his eyes as he focused his aim right between John’s eyes. His arm beginning to quiver as the elastic of the weapon is pulled taut. 

“I’m not an intruder! I’m not even inside!” John retorts, frowning a bit. “My mummy, Mrs. Hudson, she sent me with biscuits and-”

“Lies, you wanna murder my whole family don’t you?”

“What are you on about?” John asks as another pair of feet come down the stairs. 

“Sherlock, where do you want to put your-” The older boy stops walking when he sees his brother aiming a weapon in the face of a seemingly harmless child. “Bleeding hell, Sherlock! What are you doing??”

“I’m telling Mummy you cursed.” 

“I’m telling Mummy that you’re threatening to shoot our first visitor!” The older boy replies. “Put it down,  _now_.” The boy demands, the one called Sherlock replies. 

“Ugh, no fun.” Sherlock comments and turns to his brother. “Mycroft, must you ruin every chance of fun I get?”

“Must you threaten to shoot everyone that you don’t know?”

“Depends.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Mycroft focuses his eyes on John. “I’m Mycroft, and this is my little brother-”

“Sherlock Holmes,” The boy fills in for himself. “You’re our neighbor, correct?”

“Um, y-yes. I’m John.” The blonde extends a hand and Sherlock stares at it. 

“I never shake hands with my enemies.” Sherlock all but spits on the extended hand. John retracts it.

“What Sherlock  _means_ to say is ‘might we have some of those biscuits?’ and to which your reply is...?” Mycroft eyes the plate of biscuits in John’s hands. 

“Oh, yeah!” John grins, revealing that he’s missing a few teeth, as young children do. “I was told to bring them over.”

“I’ll just have one.” Mycroft says as John unwraps the plate. “I want to get back upstairs and unpack my model planes.”

“AKA: Mycroft is boring.” Sherlock picks up a biscuit as well.

“I’m not b-” Mycroft is cut off by Sherlock holding up a small hand. 

“Not important,” Sherlock stops him from retorting. “John, I need to see you outside.” 

“Huh?” John’s brow furrowed. 

“Outside, please.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “I don’t like repeating myself, nor do I like begging. Don’t make me do both.”

“Um...” John looks at Mycroft pleadingly. The older boy looks at his brother. 

“Sherlock, you can go outside and play with John. As long as you  _promise_  not to shoot him, or ask him for blood or urine samples.” Mycroft sets the conditions. 

“What about-” Sherlock is cut off by a stern glare from his brother. 

“No hair samples either.” Mycroft holds out his glare with Sherlock, the younger brother returning the icy stare. 

“Fine, but I wasn’t going to go  _play_ with John, anyway.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Playing is for children.”

“You’re six years old.” The older brother gives in first and breaks the stare to head up to his room. 

“That’s passed adulthood in dog years!” Sherlock calls after Mycroft. 

“You’re human!” Mycroft replies from halfway up the stairs, before disappearing down the hallway.

Sherlock turns to John and takes a nibble out of his biscuit. John watches as Sherlock seems contemplative about the biscuit. So far, he seems far too contemplative about a lot of things, for a six year old.

“This biscuit is satisfactory, did you make it?” Sherlock asks, making his way passed John and out the front door. 

“Um, no. My-”

“Your mum, right.” Sherlock interjects. “The one you call ‘Mrs. Hudson’, yes?”

“Yes.” John follows Sherlock around the side of the house. “How did you-”

“As I said, you call her that. I heard you say her name earlier.” Sherlock explains as he walks to the fence connecting his and John’s backyards, or, separating them rather. “See this?” Sherlock points to a board in the fence.

“What about it?” John asks. 

“It’s loose.” Sherlock pushes it and it moves out of place. 

“Alright?”

“If I need to hold counsel with you, I shall be doing it through here from now on.”

“Hold what?”

“Also, I would like to ask why you were spying on me earlier.” Sherlock says. “So, why?”

“Spying?”

“You were watching me through the window.”

“H-how...do you figure that?”

“You ever have the feeling that someone is watching you?” Sherlock raises one of his dark eyebrows. “Well, sometimes they are. And, sometimes when you ask them about it, they become flustered.” Sherlock taps a fingertip to the blush on John’s cheek. “Guilty.”

John’s face only reddens more. He’s only known Sherlock for under ten minutes, maybe a bit more than that...and already, John is being swept up in the six year old tornado that is Sherlock Holmes. 

The younger boy has an impressive crown of brunette curls, and eyes that John can’t seem to label the color of. They’re blue, they’re green...yet somehow also grey. They flicker quickly as they observe all of his surroundings. With each sudden movement of his eyes, the color only seems to change more. 


	2. Firetrucks & Two Scraped Knees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your brother was right about you.”
> 
> “Mycroft?” Sherlock scoffs. “What could he possibly be right about?”
> 
> “You’re ridiculous.”

After their first encounter, John and Sherlock didn’t see much of each other for nearly a week. On the sixth day of not seeing each other, while John is out playing in his backyard, he hears movement at the fence. He looks up to see Sherlock, clad in white and green plaid shorts, and a navy blue tshirt. He’s barefoot and he has scrapes on both of his knees. He’s wiping at tears that have fallen on his cheeks. 

He’s just getting over some very hard crying. John can tell because he’s doing those small hiccuping breaths that one only does after sobbing. 

John isn’t sure what to say, or if he should say anything. He and Sherlock weren’t really friends. But, kids don’t really think of that kind of thing. John finds it difficult to be with other children. He thinks about things too much. Mrs. Hudson says he has an old soul. Which is why he has the worrying mind of an adult. 

“Are...you ok?” John finally speaks up, Sherlock’s head jerks up to him like he wasn’t expecting John to even acknowledge him. The younger boy simply sits across from John and brings his scraped knees to his chest. 

“What are you doing?” Sherlock asks, though it’s clear that John is playing. He has two action figures, one a superhero, one an army man. They’re riding on top of a firetruck. 

“Uh...” John looks at his mismatched toys. “Playing, I guess.”

“Can I watch?”

“You don’t wanna play with me?”

“Playing is for children.” Sherlock reminds John. The younger boy had said the same thing to his older brother the day John met them. 

“You don’t like playing?”

“No point in it.” Sherlock wipes away tears from his face that aren’t there anymore. His hiccuping breaths have slowed down a bit. 

“What do you do for fun then?”

“Solve mysteries.”

“Real mysteries?”

“Duh,” Sherlock rolls his eyes, sniffles. “There’s no use in solving fake ones.”

“Oh.” Is all John can say, his eyes dive down to Sherlock’s knees. “Is that how you hurt yourself?”

“I didn’t hurt _myself_.” Sherlock shakes his head, curls bobbing slightly as he does so. “The rocks I slipped on hurt me.”

“So...you hurt yourself.” John chuckles, Sherlock looks at him curiously before laughing a bit as well. Sherlock’s laugh is more high pitched than John’s and he covers his mouth when he giggles. 

“Shut up, John.” Sherlock folds his arms. “Sometimes detectives make mistakes.”

“You didn’t make a mistake.” John says. “You had a human moment. Everyone falls down sometimes.”

Sherlock eyes John again, and he doesn’t say anything. He extends one leg, uses his foot to kick over John’s firetruck. The older boy frowns but he isn’t actually upset. 

“Well, that was unnecessary.” John sighs.

“Yeah, so was calling me human.”

“But, you are.” John shrugs, reaching up to itch his head, fingertips scratching over blonde strands. Sherlock draws his knees close again. 

“Don’t remind me.” Sherlock says. “Don’t call me a human.”

“What would you rather be?”

“A different intelligent life form.” Sherlock shrugs. “Like an alien from somewhere else.”

“Why?”

“People are boring, Earth is boring.” Sherlock states. “People are flawed, Earth is flawed.”

“Are you sure you’re six?”

“Are you sure that Mrs. Hudson is your mum?”

“Huh?”

“Who calls their mum ‘Mrs.’ whatever?”

“Oh...” John sets his firetruck upright. “I’m adopted...she was a friend of my parents’. Someone adopted my sister, no one stepped up to adopt me. So...she did.”

“Where are your real parents?”

“Died.”

“How?” Sherlock is the first person to find out that John’s parents have passed away, and not say ‘sorry for your loss’ or something like that. John is surprised by how refreshing it is. 

“Automobile accident.”

“Were you in the car?”

“No.”

“Did you see it happen?”

“No.”

“Did you see their bodies after?” Sherlock’s questions are coming rapid fire.

“Yes.”

“Were they all beaten up?”

“Not that I could tell. I saw them at the funeral.”

“Did you cry?”

“No, I threw up.” John answers.

“A lot?”

“I guess.”

“Did someone see you?”

“You’re really interested in this.”

“This is a  _case_ , John.”

“A case?” John repeats. “It’s not a case. This is a sad story about my parents’ deaths.”

“Every sad story is a case.” Sherlock says. “A case is a result, it’s up to someone to find the cause.”

“What?”

“Your parents parish, there is your cause. The result is that a couple has been killed, whether an accident or not, orphaning their young son.” Sherlock explains. “Do you understand now?”

“You think my parents’ deaths might have not been accidents?”

“Oh, no.” Sherlock shakes his head. “They probably were, and very unfortunate accidents at that. However...I’m not interested. I’m only interested in the ones that are on purpose. The murders, John.”

“Isn’t there something wrong with a kid who is interested in murder?” John laughs. He thinks that maybe he should be afraid of this boy, but Sherlock isn’t scary at all. Just overly smart, intimidating maybe.

“Why should there be something wrong with me enjoying a good murder? As long as I’m not the one _doing_ the murdering, I can’t possibly find anything wrong in my interest.” Sherlock shrugs. “Besides, kids solve puzzles all the time. So what if mine involve morgues, labs, and dead or missing people?”

“You’re interesting, to say the least.” John sits his superhero and his army guy back onto the firetruck. “Have you ever solved a murder?”

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Um...alright.”

“One time, I was in the park...back near my old house.”

“Ok?”

“And, it was early in the morning, not too early. But _kid_ early.” Sherlock looks both ways to make sure no one else is around to hear. “I asked my mum to take me to the park, she made my brother do it.”

“Yeah?”

“When we got to the park, we heard a man grunting back behind a thicket of trees.” 

“Uh-huh?”

“We made our way there quietly.” Sherlock whispers, it sends spooky chills over John’s skin. “When we got there, the man was thrashing around like a fish out of water. Then, suddenly he stopped and got very, very still.”

“He...died?”

“When the man stopped moving, Mycroft and I ran away. And...later that day, Mycroft and I saw on the news, that the man had done himself in because his wife had left him the month before and he couldn’t take the loneliness anymore.”

“Whoa,” John’s eyes widen for a moment, before going back to normal. “Still though, you didn’t solve a murder.”

“But, it was the closest I’ve gotten to solving a _real_ one!”

“Lame.” John comments, just to annoy the younger boy. 

“I’ll solve a real one, one day! You’ll see!”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m serious!” Sherlock points a finger in John’s face. “When I grow up, and I become a detective...you have to join me!”

“Huh?”

“We’ll be a team, and you’ll see that I really can solve a murder.”

“I don’t want to be a CSI agent, or whatever you call them.”

“What do you want to be then?”

“I dunno, a teacher or a doctor.” John shrugs. “Maybe a teacher, being a doctor sounds too hard. Also, having peoples’ lives in my hands sounds scary.”

“Having someone’s education in your hands is _far_ scarier, trust me.” Sherlock shudders. “Have you ever seen an uneducated person? They’re like zombies.”

“Your brother was right about you.”

“Mycroft?” Sherlock scoffs. “What could he possibly be right about?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“ _He_ spends his time putting together planes that he refuses to fly because they’re ‘collectors items’.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “You tell me who’s more ridiculous.”

John giggles. “You’re funny.”

“So you say,” Sherlock looks at his knees. “So, if you’re going to be a doctor, do you imagine that you can patch me up?”

“Your knees?”

“No, my face.” Sherlock again rolls his eyes. “Yes, John. My clearly injured knees.”

“Um, I can try. I’ve bandaged myself up before.” John rises to his feet. “Besides, if you don’t clean your wounds, they could get infected.”

“Sounds good.” Sherlock stands up. “The patching me up part, not the infection part.”

Again, John laughs. He finds Sherlock terribly amusing. 

“Fix me up, Dr. Watson.” Sherlock reaches over and takes John’s hand. It’s then that John realizes that Sherlock’s hands were tiny compared to his own, also that Sherlock knows his last name.

“How do you know what my last name is?” John leads Sherlock towards his house. 

“When I kicked over your firetruck, I saw that you’d written your first and last name on the bottom.”

“Brilliant.” John comments as he holds the door open for Sherlock. The younger man enters, careful to do so slowly so he can keep his hold on John’s hand. “Do you notice everything?”

“I wouldn’t be a very good detective if I didn’t.”

_____________________________

 

John had Sherlock sit on the closed toilet lid, the younger boy looked nervous. 

“It’s going to sting a bit, I’m not going to lie to you.” John says as he pulls the first aid kit from the shelf. 

“I didn’t ask.” Sherlock folds his arms defensively. 

“You can hold my hand again if you want.” John offers. Sherlock looks like he might accept the offer, but he frowns. 

“Don’t need to.”

“Fine, fine.” John says as he gets out what he needs to clean and bandage the wounds. “Ready?”

“Y-yes.” Sherlock squeezes his eyes tightly. 

John feels guilty as he brings the alcohol pad to Sherlock’s first knee. Sherlock flinches it away and whimpers. His hand automatically reaches out to John’s shirt and grabs ahold of the sleeve. “I’m sorry.” John apologizes as he continues to wipe away the dried blood and flecks of dirt. 

“H-hurry, John.” The boy’s voice sounds pleading, so John makes quick, and thorough work. 

Sherlock’s grip on John’s shirt tightens and loosens sporadically during the cleaning. John bandages the wounds and stands upright when he’s finished. 

“You can let go, and open your eyes now.” John says and Sherlock slowly does so, looking around the room then at John. 

“See?” Sherlock asks, wiping his eyes that’d gotten teary during the event. “I wasn’t even scared.”

“Right, you weren’t.” John lets it go, he doesn’t want to damper the boy’s ego.

“Thank you.” Sherlock says as he gets onto his toes, pressing a kiss to John’s cheek. 

“W-what was that?” John puts a hand over his face where it was kissed.

“That’s how we say ‘thank you’ in my house.” Sherlock comments, unfazed by what just happened. “Do you have ice lollies here?”

“Not in the bathroom.”

“You know what I meant.”

“I...I don’t remember if we do or not.”

“Let’s go find out.” Sherlock says, taking John’s hand again and leading him out of the bathroom. “I want grape, if you have it.”

~*~

Sherlock left John’s house that afternoon with his mouth stained purple from his grape ice lolly. John didn’t collect his toys from the backyard that day, he’d forgotten about them. Well, he  _had_  forgotten about them, until he looked out the window later and saw them getting rained on. But, he left them there anyway. This is because, maybe seeing them out there the following day might urge him to go play. And, if he's out playing...maybe he'll get a visit from Sherlock again. 


End file.
